


swear to god the devil made me do it

by orphan_account



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Codependency, M/M, One Shot Collection, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dennis slid his hand over to Mac’s, and squeezed it tight. “We don’t need to talk about this or analyze it too much. Let’s just. . .keep quiet for the rest of the night. Allow the moment to be what it is."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>A series of short fics about Mac and Dennis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. things you said that made me feel like shit

**Author's Note:**

> This basically started because I got some prompts on tumblr and I wanted to crosspost the fics here.
> 
> Warnings for arguing that involves violence in chapter one, and mentions of suicidal ideation and erotic asphyxiation in chapter two.

Manufacturing a reason for Dee to get out of the apartment so they could masturbate wasn’t supposed to end in a time-sucking knock-down-drag-out fight. Yet here they were, red-faced and screaming at each other on opposite ends of Dee’s living room. The hammock was dangling on the floor; Mac had attacked it in rage. Dennis was gripping a beer bottle with white knuckles. He could feel the bottle’s rim pressing into the inside of his index finger, sure to leave a mark.

Mac was disheveled; his slicked back hair was mussed and flopped to one side. It was a lot less ugly than he usually styled it, which was infuriating. How dare he become more handsome when he lost control? Dennis had been trying to figure out that trick for years and all it ended up doing was teaching him how to best clean up tear-smudged makeup. So goddamn unfair.

Mac was gripping onto the neck of a lamp as if he were about to throw it. Something had brought them to this point but it was becoming harder and harder to remember what. They were at the point of an argument where it became all about rehashing old scores and trying to one-up each other until someone else backed down, got hit, or both. Dennis had lost the past three fights on a technicality (something distracted both of them and then it got dropped) and the fourth most recent one when Mac made a surprisingly low blow about his weight. He wasn’t about to lose again tonight.

“You try way too hard, you know that?” said Dennis, through clenched teeth. “You spend all your time slicking back your hair to look like your terrifying criminal father when you’d look way better just letting it free. You keep doing all this stupid performative bullshit you’ve done since we were kids as if it will make him love you more –”

Mac’s eyes widened in fear. “Don’t,” he said quietly.

He hadn’t listened the last time Dennis said ‘don’t’ like that. It was only fair.

“Does he love you more now that you fucked up his life in prison? Or is he still refusing to see you?”

Mac’s breathing increased, and he looked on the verge of tears now. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! My dad just. . .he just needs some time off from everyone. He loves me! He – he told me so!”

“Charlie told me he said he didn’t.”

“What?”

“Charlie told me your dad said he didn’t love you. He doesn’t love you, Mac. He won’t ever! You need to let it go!” Dennis’s voice cracked; his heart rate was careening towards what he knew were dangerously high levels if he wanted to stay conscious.

Mac lobbed the lamp he had been gripping for dear life at Dennis. It shattered against the wall, and broken pieces of glass flew everywhere. Without even grabbing his keys, Mac stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Dennis was sure he could hear the sounds of Mac sliding down the wall and crying right on the other side of the door.

Dennis wiped his forehead with a shaking hand. He sat down on the couch, put his beer down on the coffee table, and surveyed the damage. A broken lamp – past repair, probably. The hammock – could be rehung. Mac – well, he was damaged before Dennis got to him.

He wasn’t going to apologize, because he knew he was right. Still, Mac sobbing about his dad still made him feel a little sick and wrong inside. Something hit a little too close to home that Dennis didn’t really want to think about. Maybe it would have been better to stick to things that were actually Mac’s fault.

Mac flinched away whenever Dennis tried to touch him for two weeks afterward. Dennis supposed that was only fair.


	2. things you said after it was over

Mac and Dennis were sitting on the bed and trying to catch their breath post-sex. It had been one of _those_ nights, when Dennis had come at him hungrily with his eyes dark and emptier than usual. Mac had held him down and choked him while Dennis sporadically exhaled a litany of endearments, encouragements, and praises he only ever said during sex. Dennis had unmistakable red handprints all over his neck; he had told Mac to choke him like he meant it, choke him like he was the only thing keeping Dennis from doing something unimaginably terrible. Dennis liked to taste his own death on nights like this.

Mac turned his head to look at his partner. Dennis’s middle and index finger were held to his lips, a sure remnant of when he used to smoke afterwards. His red-rimmed eyes were staring pensively up at the ceiling. He was covered in sweat, and it was soaking into the bedspread.

“Was that good for you?” asked Mac.

Dennis blinked hard as if he had just been pulled out of the recesses of very deep thought. “Hm?”

“Did you like what we just did? ‘Cause I thought it was great. Really, um, intense and stuff.”

Dennis slid his hand over to Mac’s, and squeezed it tight. “We don’t need to talk about this or analyze it too much. Let’s just. . .keep quiet for the rest of the night. Allow the moment to be what it is,” he said.

Mac had never been very good at words anyway. “Ok,” he said. Dennis smiled; it didn’t reach his eyes. Whatever Mac had tried to fuck out of him was still in there, eating him alive.

“Good boy.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the way it was](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5758738) by [porterville](https://archiveofourown.org/users/porterville/pseuds/porterville)




End file.
